Detrimental delusions
by Awickedstarkid
Summary: Rizzoli and Isles oneshot. Maura takes comfort in her nightly routine of contorting reality, but sometimes her delusions don't go as planned.


Maura Isles pulled herself onto her bed and crawled under the covers. She smiled as she contorted her body into her preferred half-fetal sleeping position, her hand tracing the curve of her mouth as she laid her head against the pillow. Her other arm draped across her chest to give her the illusion of comfort, the illusion of someone caring for her, an illusion that she clung onto ever since she was a little girl.

_Jane. _The name popped into her mind like a gunshot: quick and loud, but not unexpected. _Jane, _she thought again. The face flashed before her eyes; first the smile, then the laugh, then the stare, cold and mocking. She wished there were some way she could break that mask, get a reaction out of her, rattle her somehow.

The warm flow of fantasies flooded her brain. She smiled contemptuously again, reveling in the secrecy and unorthodoxy of her nightly routine. Every night, ever since she laid eyes on that lengthy, witty brunette, she dreamed of tempting Jane. Of lying to her. Of behaving any way around her that wouldn't be expected from the strict, focused Dr. Isles most everyone feared.

In her fantasy, it was almost always evening, and the coral light fell softly on her legs as she walked up to Jane outside the bar.

"What are you doing here? I thought Lady Isles was too good for beer," Jane would taunt.

"Actually, I'm here meeting my fiancée." She would allow herself a single sadistic smile before turning to walk away.

"Wait," Jane would say. Maura would catch that look of fear and hurt and betrayal in Jane's eyes before the glint of the setting sun stole it away. "Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were best friends."

Maura would take her time turning back around, and when she would, an insolent smile would be playing at her lips, daring Jane to question her. "I never really liked you."

The scene changed. Now Maura was standing next to the ambulance waiting for Jane and her broken hands and crimson neck to be rolled up next to her. The stretcher would pull up and Maura would take her place in the seat beside Jane. She would grab Jane's hand and watch those sad, bright eyes light up with recognition.

"Thank you for saving me," she would say and give Jane's hand a squeeze.

Jane would squeeze back and scoff, "It was no problem. What are friends for?"

Maura would shake her head as a tear glided down her cheek. "No, really, thank you. I-" her voice would catch, " I have always loved you." And she would watch Jane's eyes grow wide, the realization finally hitting her.

The scene changed. She was lying on her bed again, but the light was different, almost 7 o'clock, and she could feel the heat of another body next to her. She would turn her head to the side and see Jane, thin and peaceful, lying on her left side. She would realize she was holding Jane's hand and snatch it away with revulsion. Jane's eyes would snap open, a confused glint sparkling in those dark eyes.

Maura would shake her head and prop herself up on one arm. Pointing to the tear-blurred door, she would shout, "Get out. I never want to see you again."

The scene changed. Now she was at the spa, sinking into a mud bath. Colors blurred. The scene changed. She was in the lab, fretting over Hoyt. Noises became indistinct and hazy, rising and falling in volume at random intervals. The scene changed. She was in Jane's bedroom. The scene changed. She was back at the bar again. The scene changed.

Her eyes flicked open. She was back in her bedroom, staring up at the blank ceiling. She felt her throat start to close up. It tightened until she couldn't breathe and felt like a hand was crushing her windpipe in its fist. Her skin started tingling, but she knew she couldn't touch it. She gripped the sheets below her until they almost tore, swallowed, and relaxed. She could not tell a lie. She made a mental note to stop reliving these detrimental delusions. She had to find some way to get rid of this disorder…this…this _anomaly. _She couldn't continue to discard her colleague's questions (or her own fabrication of the past and future) simply because she couldn't answer them truthfully.

She scoffed, suddenly cynically optimistic. _At least not being able to lie will keep me virtuous. _She scoffed again and abruptly the scoffs turned to laughs and the laughs to hysteria. Her manic hilarity echoed through the halls of her huge house and she heard Bass rustling from the kitchen. But she kept laughing, all alone in her dark room at 1 o'clock on a Saturday morning, because she realized something and shared it with herself as a private joke in her empty house.

_There is no virtue for the Queen of the Dead. _


End file.
